Insatiable
by NoCleverSig
Summary: Helen Magnus looked up, face drenched with sweat, body smelling of sex. How many hours had she and John been going at it? Too many to count. WARNING: Strong M Rating. Stands Alone or No. 12 in No Destination in Mind Series


**Author's Note: **Hoo-boy! Warning! Warning! Will Robinson! Rampant sex, crude language, and possible pornography ahead! I have NEVER written a story quite like this one. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I write sex, but as my fic friends say, it's _"misty, romantic sex with plot."_ Well, this isn't. It's probably the most raw thing I've ever tried (written!). My hands flew to my face, and I prayed for penance many times during this writing. So, please forgive me if this isn't your cup of tea. I'm not sure it's mine! But I did want to...challenge myself. And in this, I did succeed. As always, I don't own anything of Sanctuary or its characters. My words, however, are my own. Thanks to MajorSam for betaing this and...goodness...convincing me to post it. Oh geez louize, here we go! ACK!

**Insatiable  
(Copyright 2010, by NoCleverSig)**

Helen Magnus looked up, face drenched with sweat, body smelling of sex. How many hours had she and John been going at it? Too many to count.

She'd needed release. Physical and immediate. That's all she could remember through the haze of sex and Scotch blinding her. She was angry, frustrated, and upset, and John had been there to comfort her, his expression full of concern, not sure precisely what to do to ease her mind, rid her of her anxiety, and free her from the massive and complex burden of serving as CEO of the worldwide Sanctuary Network.

"What can I do to help, love?" he'd asked innocently, standing with her in her office as darkness overtook the day, hands gently rubbing up and down the smooth sleeves of her deep, blue dress. The last few hours had been incredibly trying for her, he knew. The meeting with the Sanctuary Heads of Households had not gone well. They were at an impasse, and Helen was frustrated beyond measure. A glass of wine, perhaps? A neck rub? Maybe dinner out?

She'd looked him dead in the eye, dropped all pretenses, and answered him with an intensity and honesty that took him aback.

"Fuck me."

It took a moment for her words to register. "Excuse me?" he responded, tilting his head to one side, flustered.

"Fuck me, John," she'd repeated quietly in her urbane, sophisticated manner, addressing him by name so he couldn't mistake her intentions or the intended recipient of her request.

It was a word, a phrase, he wasn't at all used to hearing pass Helen's lips. In the century plus since he'd known her, he could count on one hand the occasions when she had used _that word_, and it had shocked him each and every time. Never, in all of their encounters, intimate or otherwise, had she applied it like this. Dirty, crass, and…undeniably arousing.

He glanced over at her desk and saw the open decanter of Scotch Whiskey, nodding imperceptibly to himself.

"Helen," he started gently, now smelling the alcohol on her breath.

She stopped him in mid sentence, snaking her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his, her breasts against his chest, her hips tilting up against his groin in clear indication of the object of her desire. She looked up at him, her blue eyes hazy with liquor and fatigue and piercing him like a white, hot knife. She pulled at his head gently, bending it low to her lips so she could whisper into his ear, her breath wet and warm and tickling his ear lobe.

"I said _fuck me_, John Druitt. Don't make me say it again," she whispered slowly, her sultry voice a heady mix of seduction and threat.

The way she murmured his name, cursed, asked… no…_commanded_ him to take her in the most base, animalistic way possible sent a shiver up his spine and a stab of desire down his groin that made him rock hard, his erection straining against his trousers.

Helen pulled back; arms still wrapped around John's neck, and regarded him, smiling mischievously.

"Yes, I've had some Scotch. Yes, I am slightly tipsy. No, I am not drunk. And, no I will not regret my request in the morning. Did I answer all of your questions, John?" she said/asked without the slightest slur or hesitation in her voice.

John stood staring at her, mouth momentarily agape. Then a grin formed, large and wide and a laugh escaped him. God, this woman never ceased to amaze him!

"Yes, my dear, every one. Shall we?" He moved to take her by the hand and lead her out the door and up to their bedroom when she pulled him back and stopped him. He turned to look at her, questioning. She let go of his hand, walked up to him, and trailed her fingernails lightly down the front of his shirt, from his shoulders, over his nipples, to the top of his belt buckle, sending his heart racing. She smiled that mischievous smile she wore so easily tonight, reached over and closed her office door, then leaned against it, both hands clasped behind her back, locking it.

_Click._

"Let's stay here, shall we?"

It wasn't a request.

With a flick of her wrist and a second "click" of a switch she turned out the lights, leaving only the burning fireplace and the soft glow of her computer screen to light the room.

John Druitt, one of the most dangerous men in all of history, went weak in the knees.

"As the lady wishes," he managed, swallowing hard.

Helen walked toward him, catlike, blue eyes as dark as the twilight shade of her dress, hips swaying seductively. When she stood in front of him, she took a finger and traced it from his lips, down the buttons of his silky, white dress shirt, to the buckle of his black pants.

"I've had a long, difficult day, John. I'd be most grateful if you help me…move on," she said, blue eyes locking with his, breasts heaving, both hands now lightly tracing the waist band of his slacks.

He simply nodded. She smiled, looped two fingers of each hand under his belt and tugged him toward the couch by the fire, not having to turn around once to find her way.

She eased herself down on the sofa, slowly, trailing her hands up and down the taut muscles of John's outer thighs as he stood in front of her, looking down the low cut bodice of her dress. He'd have to talk to her about that…sometime…when she wasn't…Dear God… stroking his hard on through his trousers.

John closed his eyes, hearing the sounds of the crackling flames, the ticking of the mantle clock, the hum of Helen's computer, the clank of metal as her nimble hands undid his buckle and unzipped his pants, reaching inside and finding what she was seeking.

Before he could move to touch her, her mouth was around him, one hand holding the weight of his balls in her hand, the other squeezing his buttocks. The feel of her taking him in and out of her mouth, swallowing him up and down, lapping at the most sensitive part of his body in a rhythmic embrace was like being enveloped in a warm, velvet blanket.

John reached down and tangled his fingers in her thick, dark hair, lost in sensation. Helen knew his body well, knew what he liked, what aroused him. She found the sensitive bundle of nerves just under the head of his penis and nibbled on it, pulling and licking and sucking it until John couldn't stand it any longer and thrust himself into her. He held onto the back of her head, moving himself in and out of her lips as she opened herself to him, relaxing her body, letting him drive deeper into her mouth until he struck the back of her throat.

He was pumping against her, his rhythm growing faster and faster, losing himself to the sensation of her lips, her sucking, her warmth wrapped around his manhood, his fingers trapped in her soft, luscious hair. If she didn't stop, if he didn't stop, he'd soon explode inside her. He'd done it before. They'd done everything before, but John coming in her mouth, on her lips, and Helen swallowing his warm, white cum wasn't part of their usual lovemaking, as much as he so selfishly enjoyed it the times they'd agreed.

Then again nothing about this evening was "usual," and John felt as though he was adrift in open seas. Every ounce of his body, his soul wanted to please Helen, ease her stress, wipe the anxiety he saw from her brow. But she was the one in charge tonight and he simply a vessel to fulfill her requests.

If a vessel is what she needed to ease her mind, a vessel he would be. After all she had done for him, he would do that and a thousand times more.

Suddenly, she pulled away from him, the cool air shocking him back to his senses. His eyes flew open. Helen was resting against the brown leather couch, golden, embroidered pillows propped around her, her stocking legs crossed demurely, her t-strap heels softly bouncing against her ankles. She was looking straight up at him, the firelight playing across her cheeks, shining off her dark eyes.

She took one hand, reached down, and began fingering the hem of her dress, easing it up her thigh in painful slow motion.

"Fuck me, John," she ordered again, staring him down. "Please…" she added with a whisper.

Druitt could barely breathe, hardly hear, the blood rushing from his head to his groin as his dark, sultry angel lay open before him, begging him to take her. He stepped out of his shoes and socks, dropped his pants, his boxers, kicked them aside, and straddled her on the couch, laying his hands on either side of her thighs as she had done to him. He took the sides of her dress and eased it upward, exposing her smooth, stocking legs. She lifted herself up to help him, wrapping her arms around his neck, until the blue dress bunched about her waist leaving her naked and bare, the only barrier between them now her thin nylons.

John glanced at Helen for permission. She simply laughed and said, "I have plenty more where these came from, John." He grinned at her in response, and proceeded to attack her hose with a ferocity he usually reserved for…other things. Why the damned nylons were so easy for Helen to get runs in but impossible to rip apart was a cruel irony of feminine fashion.

After some effort, he succeeded in managing a tear. He would have used his pocket knife. It would have been quicker and easier, but the memories it might invoke weren't worth the expediency. Besides, anticipation itself was a wonderful thing.

He reached down to broaden the hole he'd made and found her panty liner soaking wet. The smell of her sex sent him over the edge. She was more than ready. No preamble was necessary. John moved to position himself over her, to take her in one, deep thrust, when he caught her dark blue eyes and felt his heart lurch.

"I love you, Helen," he murmured deep and low, the simple words tumbling unbidden out of his heart. He needed her to know it. To understand that everything he did from this time forward in their lives was for her.

She smiled at him, understanding his need to reassure her. "I know, John. I love you too. It's all right." She took one hand and stroked his cheek.

He placed his hands on the top of the couch for leverage, closed his eyes, and thrust his massive shaft into her, pinning her, hearing Helen gasp at his sudden and complete intrusion, moving her hands back to his neck tightening her hold around him and instinctively widening her legs urging him to drive deeper. He backed out and drove into her again, causing Helen to rear up and grimace in pain and pleasure. She had told him to "fuck her" and he was going to do his very best to honor that request.

Helen hung on for dear life, eyes shut tight, stocking clad legs and high heels wrapped around John's hips as he pounded into her again and again, knocking the very breath out of her. Druitt dropped his head to her chest, nuzzling her breasts as he ground his pelvis into hers. After a moment, he lifted his head slightly to capture her mouth, his tongue mimicking the movement of their bodies below, making it impossible for her to breathe. He moved as fast and as hard as he could, slamming himself into Helen and her into the couch, making the sofa rise up and smack back down again against the wooden floor with a thump which he was sure would bring Biggie running. But no one came. Not even Helen, although he was crushing into her so fiercely he could barely breathe, the sweat dripping from his body making his white shirt cling to his chest. He couldn't hold on much longer. Helen was hot and tight and incredibly wet, and all he wanted to do was pour his cum into her and fill her completely.

John was doing everything he could to comply with her request, to fuck her so hard she'd forget about the day, her troubles, and the anxiety that plagued her. But her mind was in a million pieces, distracted by recent events. As much as she wanted this, needed this, and as good as it felt, she couldn't let go, not enough to come. Neither the Scotch nor John could free her from being Dr. Helen Magnus, head of the Sanctuary Network, responsible for the lives and well-being of so many.

She could feel John tightening inside her, ready to explode, willing himself to stop, waiting for her to tumble with him.

She tightened her hold on his neck and lifted herself to his ear. "It's all right, John. You can come. Come inside me."

John pulled back and stopped for a moment to look at her. "But you…," he panted.

"I can't," she shook her head. "I just can't…It's not you, John. Please…It's all right. Come inside me. Now, John, Please…."

He looked back down at her, puzzled. "Not without you, Helen," and plunged into her again, speeding up impossibly fast, taking one hand and rubbing her clitoris while he moved in and out of her at blinding speed. He could hear her breath speed up, knew she was on the edge of breaking, but something was holding her back. He leaned down and whispered into her ear. "Let go, love…Just let go…."

It was all she needed to nudge her into oblivion. Helen convulsed around him, nails raking his neck and sweat-clad shirt, a strained "My God!" escaping her lips as she tightened her muscles and arms around him, shuddering as her orgasm coursed through her. John followed her immediately exploding inside her, crying out in a deep, guttural moan as he came and collapsing on top of her, body dripping with sweat.

He lay there like that, the fire crackling beside them, for what seemed like hours, but John knew it was only minutes. They were both breathless, sticky with sex and sweat, and utterly spent. Helen stroked John's head, his neck, his back, in long, slow, circular motions. He laid his head on her breasts, the rest of his body between her legs, the warm fire, the dim light, and her gentle touch lulling him to sleep.

"Did that help?" he murmured eventually, his eyes half closed in repose.

"Immensely," she cooed at him, a smile in her voice. "Care for another go?"

John raised his head, his chin wedged between her cleavage, and stared at her in disbelief.

"You're joking?"

She grinned at him with that mischievous smile she'd worn all evening. Druitt recognized the look in her eye and froze.

"Helen, my dear, you are the most beautiful, enchanting woman I have ever known, and it is my pleasure, indeed privilege, to make love to you. But the fact remains that I am 162 years old and quite candidly, my love…," he swallowed, a blush briefly crossing his features. "Not everything works quite as immediately as it did in our youth."

Helen frowned at him and patted his smooth, bald head.

"Oh, John. I think you underestimate your stamina."

He laughed, the rumble echoing through her chest. A little flattery could get a woman a long way, and Helen knew it.

"Darling," he said, looking up at her again. "As much as I'd like to oblige…"

Before he could finish his sentence, Helen had pulled herself up, reached down, and yanked her dress completely off, tossing it across the room, leaving nothing but her milky white skin and black push-up bra in John's immediate sight.

He recognized this one. The bra, that is. It was fringed with lace and clasped in the center. A man didn't forget lingerie like that.

"Not even a tingle?" she teased, caressing his ears with her fingertips and rubbing her stocking-clad legs over his naked bottom.

He chuckled into her stomach, and then sat up so he could converse with her face to face. "Perhaps…a tingle…yes," he replied, watching her ample breasts, his favorite aspect of her many splendid features, rise and fall with each breath she took.

Helen leaned forward, set her hands gently on John's shoulders, and kissed him softly, sweetly, then pulled away, frowning at his chest.

"What?" he asked, puzzled by her look.

"Well, this has got to go…," she chided him, methodically unbuttoning his dress shirt then easing it off his shoulders.

"Love, as much as I'm enjoying your," he hesitated, distracted, as she kissed his neck, his shoulders, "amorous advances," he finished, swallowing hard. "Don't you think we should move this upstairs to our bedroom? Anyone could walk in here."

She stopped and looked at him as though he were speaking in a foreign tongue.

"I locked the door," she reminded him.

"Yes, but…"

She silenced him with a kiss, deep and scorching and wet, her tongue seeking out his in a languid dance. Distracted yet again, Druitt jumped when her hand grasped his limp, wet penis, stroking him up and down, pulling at him, tugging him, willing him into arousal.

He stopped her with a hand atop hers, afraid in her enthusiasm she might yank it off.

"My dear, I may be old, but I am not a Model T Ford to be cranked."

Helen laughed. "Fine," she sighed, easing her ministrations. "Then let's try another way. Lay down," she directed, placing both hands flat across his naked chest and pushing him back until he fell against the pillows, his head hitting the far arm of the couch with a quiet thud and a muted, "Ouch!"

"Stay there!" she pointed at him. "Don't move. You aren't allowed to move."

He grinned, completely at a loss as to what his lover was planning but giddy as a schoolboy with anticipation.

"First, I have to get rid of these," she said, nudging her high heels to the floor and sitting up on her knees to pull her stockings down and off.

John let out a disappointed sigh. Helen looked at him. "They're too confining," she responded to his silent complaint. He shrugged content to see what she'd do next and clasped his hands behind his head eager for the show.

"Since you did most of the work before, consider this my treat," she grinned looking positively wicked, balancing herself on her knees and straddling his legs, hovering above him.

He thought she might settle atop him; grind her wet, warm, pussy into his groin, humping him, urging his erection forward. But instead, she laid one hand on the back of the couch to steady herself and let the other drop to her side, closing her eyes and easing it, slowly and steadily, upwards and into her moist, warm folds.

Druitt gulped, suddenly understanding what this "treat" would consist of.

He watched, mesmerized, as Helen pleasured herself in front of him, massaging her clit with her perfectly polished nails, pushing her fingers into her pussy, using the wetness she gathered there to begin her movements anew. John could feel himself sweating, his breath becoming shallow, his heart speeding up, and his penis hardening at the sight of her.

God, she was a vision!

Her head was thrown back in rapture and concentration, her hand moving faster and faster against her clit, massaging it, kneading it, pushing her fingers in and out of her burning, wet, center. Without thinking, John moved his hand to his shaft and began stroking himself up and down, turned on by every shift of her beautiful body, backlit by the fire, her dark hair cascading in tousled waves across her shoulders.

John watched as Helen reached up and slipped a bra strap off her shoulder freeing one breast. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Pulling her hand away from her mound, she took her fingers and traced her nipple, covering it in a clear sheen of their liquid sex. She closed her eyes again, captured her breast in her hand, lifted it up, and suckled herself, teasing her nipple with her tongue. John gasped out loud, his eyes wide. Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, Helen reached down again, eyes closed, and thrust her fingers inside her pussy, pulling them out slowly and placing them in her open mouth, her lips locked around them as she ever so slowly eased them in and out of her lips, tongue tasting their sex, opening her eyes wide and once again locking them with John's.

Druitt moaned out loud, almost coming at the gesture. A string of curse words coursed through his brain….

John sat up like a rocket and grabbed Helen by the arms, his erection rock hard, and shoved her down against the couch, his mouth swallowing hers. He pushed her hand aside and drove his own fingers inside of her, feeling the soft tension of her dripping, hot center. He moved his lips to her breast, unclasping her bra with his other hand, pulling at her nipples with his teeth, biting her, teasing her.

She had worked John Druitt into a frenzy of total, mad desire. He wanted her. It was his only coherent thought. No one else could have her. Only he would make love to her. She wasn't even permitted to make love to herself.

He tore his mouth away from her breasts, leaving red welts in his wake, sliding down her legs, wedging his unshaven face between her damp, open thighs. He took in the scent of her, of him, of their earlier lovemaking and found himself overcome by lust. He put his hands under her ass, lifted her up, and licked her smooth, shaven pussy, taking her clit between his teeth and working her over until she bucked wildly beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders and neck. He sucked harder, thrusting his tongue in and out of her center in time with her rhythm, swallowing their sex, determined to fuck her this way as hard as he'd fucked her before and make her come even harder.

Helen clawed at John blindly, utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of his lips upon her. She couldn't think, couldn't speak, could barely breathe, her hips thrusting madly against his mouth of their own accord. She realized in her half delirious haze that she was murmuring random words out loud, "John…fuck…god…yes…dear god…."

Finally, in a blinding blaze of light, she came hard against him, lifting up and off the couch, crying out, John riding with her, her hands digging into his shoulders, hanging on, her body in complete ecstasy.

John looked up at her flushed face, her dilated eyes, and smiled, utterly satisfied with his efforts. He gave Helen only a moment to recover, to come down from her high, to breathe again, before he pulled himself up and over her, straddling her chest, his erection hard and long and bumping against her breasts.

She started to reach for him, to pull him into her mouth, but he shook his head and caught her hands in his, laying them against either side of her breasts.

"Push them together," he told her.

She knew precisely what he wanted.

Helen took her hands and did as he ordered, pushing her mounds of flesh together, forming a valley between her breasts where John slid his shaft with a sigh and a shudder that rocked them both. He threw his head back, one hand on his hip the other gripping the back of the couch, moving his manhood back and forth between her breasts, moaning in pleasure. Helen pushed her chest together as hard as she could, forming the tightest space possible, capturing his penis between her breasts, her nipples hard, her pussy tingling, completely aroused at the sight of him towering over her, thrusting against her, his slippery shaft moving up and down her chest.

John started to move quicker, back and forth between her flesh, panting, his brow furrowed in concentration. She could feel his erection grow taut, hear the change in his breath, the frenzied motion of his hips. She knew he was near orgasm. Helen pushed her breasts together even harder, completely enveloping him in her warm, soft mounds. Suddenly he cried out, liquid shooting out of his tip in spasms, coating her chest, her breasts with his warm, white cum.

He collapsed on top of her, their sticky sex binding them together.

John lay splayed against her, his body limp. Helen lay beneath him, her mind adrift in pure, physical sensation, boneless and weightless and floating.

It was utter bliss.

What had she been worried about today? She couldn't remember. She wasn't even sure she remembered her name.

After a few moments, they came to, their surroundings registering again.

Helen turned her head toward John and smiled, his eyes fluttering in near sleep.

"Care for another go?" she asked ever so innocently.

He opened one eye to look at her, and then another, started to grin, and then stopped dead, his mouth once again agape.

"You're quite serious, aren't you?" he questioned, a note of panic in his voice.

Helen smiled, laid a hand on John's back, and began to caress him in slow, leisurely circles.

"Quite," she replied, her mischievous grin appearing once more.

John closed his eyes and laughed, the rumble echoing through her chest.

"You're insatiable you know," he said.

"So I've been told," she replied, and swallowed his mouth quickly before he could ask her who had done the telling.

END


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